


Prepared to Pay

by Rubynye



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Multi, One of My Favorites, Past Relationship(s), Past Underage Sex, Pillow Talk, Polyamory, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: Neal lets the confessions fall like pebbles, waiting to see which will tip the balance.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Prepared to Pay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citrinesunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/gifts).



> For CitrineSunset in the ChocolateBox 2021 Exchange. :)

Of course Neal lets his mouth run away with him. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in a very long time, and it’s all Peter and Elizabeth’s fault, with El’s excellent wine and sweeter kisses, with Peter’s strong hands and quiet voice, with how they wrapped him up in their mutual warmth and their shared love. 

Totally their fault.

Now it’s the next morning and El has an event to run, and Neal tries not to think about all the different ways he liked getting to kiss her goodbye and good luck on her way out the door, her lipstick sweet on his mouth. To say nothing of getting to watch Peter kiss her, how she tilted up her lovely face and how his eyes crinkled, their beautiful familiarity. And then Peter shut the door, turned around and cupped Neal’s chin, smearing that big thumb across his lower lip, and muttered, “Her shade looks good on you,” eyes dark and hot and everything Neal could never resist.

So now it’s a perfectly bright Saturday morning and they’re back in bed and for once Neal doesn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. Peter’s arm is broad and tight across his middle as Neal babbles out every secret that comes to mind, things he’s always wanted to tell Peter, things he hasn’t remembered in years. Satchmo snoozes beside their feet and Neal keeps expecting to feel restless and just stays relaxed, leaning on Peter’s warm solidity all down his back and ass and thighs as Peter breathes steadily into his hair.

“So I made it to the airport,” Neal hears himself saying, hears Peter hum interest, and suddenly finds himself swallowing over a sharp icy pang. If he keeps going with this story… he knows what he’s going to find himself telling Peter. Something Peter has never mentioned, either because he actually doesn’t know, or more likely, he’s sparing Neal’s pride.

Neal keeps breathing, keeps smiling, and between one heartbeat and the next makes the decision to keep going. But now Neal lets the confessions fall like pebbles, waiting to see which will tip the balance.

“And I figured, I could go anywhere, why not go somewhere warm, you know? Especially since I’d left my jacket behind two buses ago.” 

“What’d you steal?” Peter asks, voice dry, but still brushes his lips across Neal’s nape, and Neal _doesn’t let himself worry_ that Peter will stop. 

“Nothing that the statute of limitations hasn’t run out on,” Neal replies, wrapping his arm over Peter’s around his waist. “Anyway, that’s how I wound up in LA.” He snuggles in a millimeter closer, and rides Peter’s sigh, and enjoys being enjoyed.

That’s what it was like, after all, at least at its best. “I set up pretty well, found out the summer schedule at CalArts, a rotation of shelters, all that good stuff. Acquired a couple of IDs from _unknown sources_ ,” which makes Peter snort gently. “The only problem was cashflow. Even as a cocky-ass teenager I knew there were only so many wallets I could lift before the dice would roll against me.”

Neal takes a breath, and Peter puts in, “Somehow I find that hard to believe of the cocky-ass Neal I know now.”

Neal laughs, and closes his eyes as he rolls his head back for a kiss. He’s still playing loose and easy but his guts are all a tense knot, and he can’t look at Peter for this part. “You think I have no sense of self preservation,” he says as he looks forward again, into the closet and the distance, and shifts the tiniest bit like he’s just resettling himself under Peter’s arm, “but I really do. For instance I used a condom every time I turned a trick, even when they offered me double to let it go.”

A beat, two, and Peter freezes, his nose just behind Neal’s ear. Another, and he keeps nuzzling, but Neal felt that tell, feels the deepened rumble of Peter’s next listening-noise. “Anyway, it wasn’t my first go-round,” Neal keeps going, voice light as ever. “When I was” _back home_ “in school, I thought — I met this guy, I thought we’d just hooked up, I was so proud of myself because he thought I was all grown up, and then he handed me fifty bucks as he kissed me goodbye, said I was a superstar.”

Peter shifts his other arm, down from the pillow, down around Neal’s ribs, tucking his hand over Neal’s wildly pounding heart. “How old were you?” He asks low, almost a whisper.

“Three weeks before my seventeenth birthday,” Neal responds, not daring to move now, to turn, to see Peter’s face. “I bought some groceries with it. I was _fine_.” Peter merely exhales, no judgement, no blame, and Neal pulls his voice back from that hard landing and goes on airily as ever. “Then a couple months later my friend’s dad drove up when I was walking, and asked if I needed a ride. But he kept looking at me, so I told him I didn’t need to be anywhere right then, and…”

Now Peter growls, his arms tightening, and Neal has to turn and look as much as he couldn’t before. He wiggles around and Peter’s forehead is all creases, but his eyes are… not angry, at least, not horrified, not disgusted. He cups Neal’s cheek in his palm, fingertips in his hair, and Neal has a moment to wonder if Peter’s _turned on_ by this — he wouldn’t’ve predicted _that_ — but that’s not the kind of tension threaded through Peter’s body wrapped around him. That’s certainly not how Peter’s forehead feels pressed to his as Peter closes his bottomless eyes and just holds onto Neal for a long moment, as Neal’s hand finds Peter’s shoulder and he can’t say a word.

“What happened?” Peter prompts. “After that,” he clarifies, as he rolls onto his back, bringing Neal with him, head onto his chest, knee pinned between his thighs, back under his broad hand.

“Nothing, really,” Neal says, and it’s not even a half truth. “I went home with a hundred bucks. I woke up at God-knows-when freaking out about what would happen if he told anyone. It wasn’t that big a town, after all. But of course he didn’t — he had more to lose than I did. So I got through the summer, I got a boyfriend and a girlfriend, they found out about each other — “ Peter laughs gently “— and a couple weeks later everyone went on to the next scandal. Ellen scolded me —“ it still hurts to talk about her, tight around his heart, and Peter rubs gentle circles between his shoulderblades. “And I noticed how people forget things. So there were a couple other times --" _four--_ "but I didn't make a habit of it. After all, it wasn’t a big town. But LA is.”

“A big town,” Peter echoes, and Neal nods, rubbing his cheek on Peter’s solid chest. 

“Yeah, where no one knew me. And people were just a lot more … receptive. It was almost like selling sex wasn’t even illegal. While lifting wallets, as we both know, does tend to be frowned upon by the authorities.”

Peter laughs again, warmer and less deliberately, and the knot inside Neal has begun unraveling, almost unnervingly fast. For a moment he’s caught between reflexive wariness and current safety.

Then Peter’s thumb moves on Neal’s nape in a gentle stroke, another, and the knot inside Neal slithers free. He hears a self-reflective laugh in his voice when he goes on, “So of course I smiled at the wrong guy, made the wrong offer, and got myself busted.”

He thought Peter would laugh at that too, but instead he asks, “Was that your first arrest?”

Neal hums affirmatively. “I mean, I wasn’t _Neal_ then, but yeah. But I didn’t freak out until I couldn’t get out of the cuffs.”

Peter’s arm tightens around Neal’s back as he squeezes Neal’s shoulder, pressing in his fingers. “Probably better for you that you didn’t.”

“Of course, but — I’d been practicing, with —“ _a regular_ “a friend. Not enough, it turned out. And for once I couldn’t talk myself out either.” He remembers that long-ago kid’s panic and pleading, and almost laughs at his past self. He’d do so much better now.

But then, Neal remembers, with Peter’s fingers gentle in his hair, Peter’s side firm under his hand as they breathe together, he doesn’t have to anymore. 

“That scare you off?” Peter asks, still so steady, so patient. Neal had thought maybe Peter would be upset with him. Maybe secretly hoped somewhere down deep, but not as deep as the relief that Peter’s being calm about this. 

“Off LA, anyway.” Peter huffs, and Neal shrugs a little. “After the arrest I was — shaken up. Off balance. Figured I’d catch my stride in another town. I wound up in Vegas, where the money is, so I didn’t bother going back to school.”

Peter sighs, but from him this is remarkably restrained. Besides, Neal can’t blame him. He swallows hard, instead. He could leave it here. Peter has the shape of things.

Instead he takes a breath, and says something he’s never said to anyone, not to Kate, not to Mozzie. Not to the counselors and social workers who tried to see inside him, who he showed what they wanted to see, easy as pie. “At first it seemed like — a compliment in a way. I’m lucky, after all. I’m pretty.” The word tastes like memories, sugar and ash. “If people wanted to buy my time for a night or an hour, why shouldn’t I make some money? But.” Neal exhales. Peter inhales, his fingers combing rhythmically through Neal’s hair, and Neal picks up the thread. “Pretty soon I realized it was taking me out of myself, more and more, making sex just another performance, another kind of con. On the other hand it _was_ pretty good practice.”

“Practice?” Peter asks, sounding a little puzzled, and Neal tips sideways to face him with a bright brave smile. Peter hooks his heel behind Neal’s temporarily bare ankle, his eyebrows pulling together as he regards Neal, and Neal half wants to smooth Peter’s forehead with kisses and half needs to see this through.

“Practicing the con. Selling people what they wanted to see, leaving them with a smile, getting out before they noticed what was gone. I was in Vegas fourteen months and only three customers lodged theft complaints. I only got fired once, even.” 

Neal had been proud of that, secretly, deep in his heart. But now he looks into Peter’s bottomless, sad eyes, and the victories seem hollow. Then Peter blinks and says, “Fired?”

“From the — from an agency,” Neal spells it out. “Freelancing would’ve been a lot more dangerous. Much more risk of getting hurt.”

Peter strokes Neal’s temple, cupping his head solidly. “No one hurt you?” He asks, voice gone gravelly. 

Neal shrugs, and waits for Peter’s face to change. He doesn’t lie to Peter, after all. “Only a couple assholes tried.”

Peter’s eyes don’t change. He pulls Neal in and kisses him between the eyes, and presses his head down to wrap more firmly around him, holding Neal where he can hear Peter’s heartbeat, curling his fingers behind Neal’s nape. “I have to admit,” Peter says, starting out slowly, “I kind of hate thinking of you like that.” Which is mild, so mild, so why does Neal suddenly feel ill, cold all over with a flush of fear? “Of you so…” _Desperate?_ Neal’s terrified racing mind fills in. _Broke? Whorish?_

“So alone,” Peter finishes, and all the air rushes out of Neal in a relieved sigh. 

He pushes his hand against the mattress to lever himself up, and Peter unwinds his arms just enough to let him. He looks at Peter for a long moment, as Peter gives him the gentlest little smile, the one he’d always do anything to earn. He leans in and Peter lets him, he brushes his lips over Peter’s and Peter softly kisses him back. “I’m okay,” Neal murmurs, and can look right at Peter as he says it, can watch Peter’s forehead smooth out and feel Peter’s strong hand behind his neck and the warmth unfolding inside him, pushing the cold away. He can feel the truth he’s telling.

Anyway, the story deserves a happy ending. Of sorts. “I went back to school eventually,” he says, letting himself lie down to rest on the pillow, on Peter’s shoulder. “After the desert I wanted to be near water, so I went to Chicago. I forgot about the lake effect snow, of course.” Peter rolls his eyes, and Neal grins, almost wondering what he was so worried about. Almost. “I started doing copies, then, and pastiches." And really working on the lock picking, but that's another story. "At first that’s how I sold them, but then I found out that people would pay a lot more for _original_ family heirlooms, especially with sad stories attached.”

“I shouldn’t be so relieved,” Peter says dryly, “that you went from selling your body to selling forgeries.”

Neal could wince at the words, could cheer for the chance at a joke. “Hey, I didn’t _sell my body_ , it’s still right here.” He runs a fingertip down his chest as he says it, and watches Peter’s eyes flick to it, and further down. When Peter makes it back up to his face Neal turns up the smile a notch.

“Okay, I guess it is.” Peter’s smile spreads across his face, wide and bright as a sunrise, and now Neal can’t breathe in the best way, almost wants to hide his face as Peter shines that smile on him. But Peter’s smile fades as he curls his hand over Neal’s shoulder, tucking the other arm more firmly beneath Neal’s waist. “Have you told anyone? Talked to anyone about doing —“

“Kate,” Neal cuts him off with a half-healed wound rather than take a new blow. “I told Kate.” Besides the memory’s less bitter than sweet. “She put both her hands on my face, and said, ‘I would buy you. I would absolutely buy you. I’d pay so much no one else could ever afford you.’ “ Peter looks deeply unimpressed, and Neal almost laughs. “I thought it was romantic.”

“You would,” Peter says, still stroking his thumbpad across Neal’s collarbone. “What about Haversham?”

“He … didn’t need to be told, really.” Mozzie had sized him up almost instantly, saw all the ways he'd appeal to Adler. He’s good at that.

Peter nods, and says, very evenly, “I appreciate your telling me.”

Neal’s breath catches in his throat. As a cover he rolls his eyes. “Another tale of my misspent youth?”

“Another part of how you became you,” Peter answers, and all Neal can do for a moment is blink and stare.

Then he flings his arm around Peter’s shoulders and kisses him, because it’s the best, the only way to respond gratefully enough to that acceptance, and Peter tips onto him, heavy and warm and welcome, as he kisses Neal, as Neal pushes into the kiss and Peter just takes him in and pushes just perfectly back.

By the time the kiss breaks Neal has his thighs up around Peter’s hips and they’re both breathing a little faster, and Peter holds Neal’s face between his big steady hands and kisses both his eyelids and murmurs, “Do you want me to tell Elizabeth?” Neal looks up, heart thumping, and Peter amends, “Or, rather, do you want me _not_ to tell El?”

Neal shakes his head hard, even in the cradle of Peter’s hands. “No, no. You two don’t keep secrets from each other. I’m not gonna be the reason you start.” Peter gives Neal that little proud smile, and even under his warm weight Neal feels like he could float. “I’ll tell her,” he goes on, before he can think twice. And then he thinks twice, and admits, “I just… don’t want her to pity me.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows you’re stronger than that,” Peter tells him, and Neal looks up at his face, and has to pull him down for another kiss, and another, and more after that.

* * *

It’s getting close to noon by the time Neal wriggles out from under Peter’s sleep-weighted arm, and he feels a little guilty that Peter’s out cold, on his belly with his face sunk in the pillow. Weekends aren't that long, after all. Even so, Neal sits and watches Peter at peace for few moments, noting where the creases are that don’t smooth out even in sleep, then kisses his temple and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders. 

Effectively alone in his Burkes’ home, Neal does some stretches, takes a shower and shaves, and does a few more stretches, thinking of when he was nineteen and didn’t _need_ to do stretches. He pulls on a pair of Peter’s old jeans, sagging on his hips, collects a robe and soft socks for Elizabeth, and goes downstairs to make himself useful.

He lets Satchmo out, cleans up after him, and sits in the sunny back yard for a little, while Satchmo sprawls next to him for some tummy rubs. He goes back in, sets up a composed salad and makes sure they have the ingredients for a quick pasta dish in case Elizabeth wants something warm, then sits at the table idly sketching fruit, and just soaks in the quiet beautiful normality around him.

After a little while he pulls the tracker out of the fruit bowl and buckles it back onto his ankle, like a tangible promise, and then deliberately draws a miniature sketch of Peter sleeping, to slip into Elizabeth’s purse when she comes home. After that he folds a six-pointed Sherrif's badge, turns it over for a few minutes while considering what to write on it, then pockets it to plant somewhere Peter will find it. He’ll know what it means.

That’s when he hears Elizabeth drive up, just as Satchmo lifts his head with an excited bark. “Shh,” he says, but as Satchmo scampers to the door he gives Neal a look as if to say _as if_ , and Neal has to laugh as quietly as he can as he reaches over the bouncing dog to open the door.

“Hi hi hi!” Elizabeth greets them with a delighted smile that lights her whole face, ruffling Satchmo’s ears and swaying around his flailing to kiss Neal. “What,” she asks, pretending to be stern, “did you do with my husband?”

“Nothing he won’t sleep off,” Neal replies, to watch her eyes crinkle as she pats his bare chest. “Need any help bringing stuff in?”

Elizabeth pauses, leaning into Neal’s shoulder, against his side, and gives him a slow once over, and he enjoys how her gaze feels, warm on his skin. “I don’t know if we should show you off to the neighborhood looking like this,” she says at length. “Everyone will bring over a casserole to catch another peek.”

Neal grins and squeezes her as much as he dares. She feels so good, soft and strong. “I promise I won’t let anyone steal me.”

“You’d better not,” she says, and then tips her head back on her lovely neck and laughs. “Although Peter would probably enjoy finding you one more time,” and they chuckle together, before she steps back, patting Neal’s chest as she goes. “I just have a couple things to bring in.”

“I’ll be by the door.” He hangs up her purse while she steps out, grabs the trays of leftover canapés when she comes back, and pops a roast beef spiral into his mouth as he stows the food. “Mmm, this works.”

“Thanks for the help figuring it out — the stabilized reduction held up really nicely.” As she kicks off her shoes she sees the robe, and wraps herself around Neal from the back. “Oh, you are the best.” 

Mouth full, all Neal can do is mumble, and wrap his free hand around Elizabeth’s delicate wrist, and enjoy the plush warmth of her. She laughs, sounding so _happy_ , and steps back, picking up the robe as she goes. “I’m just gonna change and check on Peter,” she says, and blows him a kiss as she backs towards the stairs, watching until Neal catches it, absolutely glowing.

Neal watches Elizabeth’s hips sway as she goes up the stairs, because why wouldn’t he now that he’s allowed to, and eats another bite of roast beef, and smiles.

Then he remembers, and figures three are enough for his stomach for the moment.

Elizabeth comes back pretty soon, face washed, hair down, wrapped in the robe and smiling beautifully, and Neal offers her his arm for the walk to the couch, to see her eyes sparkle. When she sits down he kneels in one smooth moment, and watches her eyes darken as she watches him, listens to her sigh as he picks up one little foot and presses his thumb to her instep.

As he does Neal says, lightly, “If you have a moment, I have a story to tell you. I already told Peter.”

“Ooh.” Elizabeth pulls a pillow more firmly behind her back, propping herself up to face him better, and Neal takes a surreptitious breath. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, the first time I saw LA was when I ran away when I turned eighteen,” he starts, rubbing her foot, as she listens, and listens, and doesn’t look away from him. After a little while she leans forward to set her warm hand on his cheek, right where Peter did.

By the time he’s done telling Neal is resting his head in Elizabeth’s soft lap, his arms around her hips and her fingers stroking through his hair, and when Peter comes downstairs yawning and smiling, that’s how he finds them.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about Neal's backstory, and about how he learned at least some of what we see he knows, and this ended up emerging from those thoughts. As ever with fanfic, this is just one way things could have happened.
> 
> Title from "Love For Sale" by Cole Porter.


End file.
